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Literature Text
The Worm Charmer
The wind blew warm and playfully as up the mountain path he climbed,
Slow his pace but steadily, with gentle thoughts upon his mind.
He hummed a tune of memories, all the joys and tears they bring,
Of dearest friends, of enemies - all bundled up and tied with string.
Up towards the top he trod, no need to rush, no need to worry,
The skylarks overhead called down ‘the day will wait... no need to hurry.’
Slightly stooped but surely strong, the years had washed his hair to grey,
Lines etched deeply on his face, but bright eyes danced and called to play.
The old man dressed in fur and feathers, clay pipe hanging from his pack,
Hat and boots of softest leathers, a mandolin upon his back.
The summit reached, the pack removed, the mandolin gently lain,
A gnarly hand to knotted brow he slowly scanned the broad terrain.
The image captured in his mind, a wistful sigh, a happy smile,
He settled down, took off his hat, found his pipe and smoked a while.
Then picking up the mandolin his fingers strummed upon the strings,
A song emerged upon the air and carried off amongst the winds.
The melody was warm and soft and spoke of love, of life and truth,
The lyric sang of epic tales, of brave young men, of happy youth.
So very beautiful the tune, so wonderful in tone and sound,
It carried deep into the earth and charmed the worms out of the ground.
And there before the man they danced and wriggled with such happy pleasure,
They danced with joy and merriment that only these good worms could measure.
They knew no fear, there was no threat – the birds above would not advance,
The old man wove in special charms to keep them safe within their dance.
A smile upon his timeworn face, the man played on into the night,
And watched the worms weave along in utter joy and great delight.
Then slowly he wound up the song gathering all remaining tune,
And whispered gently to the worms still dancing underneath the moon.
...‘Time to go my little friends, your dance is done and now must close,
you all must settle back below the soft, safe earth beneath my toes.’
One by one each worm reared up, bowed to the man with great aplomb -
one last look up to the moon, turned to the soil and swiftly gone.
The lonely charmer now stood up, a final laugh, a wistful sigh,
And possibly the slightest look of weariness upon his eye.
And once again his tune was hummed, once again without a care,
The charmer faded out of sight, vanished in the moonlit air.
Just the lingering melody which carried on for just a while,
Just a linger of a laugh and the echo of his smile...
The wind blew warm and playfully as up the mountain path he climbed,
Slow his pace but steadily, with gentle thoughts upon his mind.
He hummed a tune of memories, all the joys and tears they bring,
Of dearest friends, of enemies - all bundled up and tied with string.
Up towards the top he trod, no need to rush, no need to worry,
The skylarks overhead called down ‘the day will wait... no need to hurry.’
Slightly stooped but surely strong, the years had washed his hair to grey,
Lines etched deeply on his face, but bright eyes danced and called to play.
The old man dressed in fur and feathers, clay pipe hanging from his pack,
Hat and boots of softest leathers, a mandolin upon his back.
The summit reached, the pack removed, the mandolin gently lain,
A gnarly hand to knotted brow he slowly scanned the broad terrain.
The image captured in his mind, a wistful sigh, a happy smile,
He settled down, took off his hat, found his pipe and smoked a while.
Then picking up the mandolin his fingers strummed upon the strings,
A song emerged upon the air and carried off amongst the winds.
The melody was warm and soft and spoke of love, of life and truth,
The lyric sang of epic tales, of brave young men, of happy youth.
So very beautiful the tune, so wonderful in tone and sound,
It carried deep into the earth and charmed the worms out of the ground.
And there before the man they danced and wriggled with such happy pleasure,
They danced with joy and merriment that only these good worms could measure.
They knew no fear, there was no threat – the birds above would not advance,
The old man wove in special charms to keep them safe within their dance.
A smile upon his timeworn face, the man played on into the night,
And watched the worms weave along in utter joy and great delight.
Then slowly he wound up the song gathering all remaining tune,
And whispered gently to the worms still dancing underneath the moon.
...‘Time to go my little friends, your dance is done and now must close,
you all must settle back below the soft, safe earth beneath my toes.’
One by one each worm reared up, bowed to the man with great aplomb -
one last look up to the moon, turned to the soil and swiftly gone.
The lonely charmer now stood up, a final laugh, a wistful sigh,
And possibly the slightest look of weariness upon his eye.
And once again his tune was hummed, once again without a care,
The charmer faded out of sight, vanished in the moonlit air.
Just the lingering melody which carried on for just a while,
Just a linger of a laugh and the echo of his smile...
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Hey, hey. Psst. I have a Christmas riddle for you.
What:
* associates closely with the colour red
* lives in a climate of perpetual snow and winter
* emphasises a massive program of industrialisation
* cherishes conspiracy theories and similar deception
* ignores social class divisions
* and redistributes the wealth?
Think you have an answer? Ready? Alright, then, boys and girls... brace yourselves... the answer is: "the Soviet Union."
What is that you say? Santa Claus? Preposterous! Absurd! Santa Claus? Hah! Don't tell me you
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There are some stories I can’t tell.
You are too old for fairytales.
You are too old for carousels.
There are some stories I can’t tell.
You father said he wished you well.
He said the card is in the mail.
There are some stories I can’t tell.
You are too old for fairytales.
It’s hard pretending not to care.
Your smile is worn on mannequins.
I’m sure I saw one wear your hair.
It’s hard pretending not to care
That you are standing, silent, there
And separation is glass thin.
It’s hard pretending not to care.
You smile is worn on mannequins.
You didn’t hear me when
I said I loved you. Once
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When I was six, my dad started going out with a woman called Laura. As soon as he told me about her, I decided that I wasn’t going to like her, but somehow Dad knew I had decided that and told me to give her a chance.
‘I still miss your mum,’ he said, ‘and I still love her very much, just like you do. But I love Laura as well, and it isn’t her fault your mum died, so you mustn’t take it out on her. She doesn’t want to be your mother - she only wants to be your friend. And I think you should let her try.’
It was very difficult for me to accept that another wo
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Thought it was high time I wrote another poem. Don't know why, but this just sprung up and jumped into my mind.
For those of you who've never heard of worm charmers...yes, they really do exist! Not sure whether it's just a UK thing, but there really are folk who charm worms out of the ground...don't ask me why, I know not.
Hope you like it anyway.
For those of you who've never heard of worm charmers...yes, they really do exist! Not sure whether it's just a UK thing, but there really are folk who charm worms out of the ground...don't ask me why, I know not.
Hope you like it anyway.
© 2009 - 2024 Otterwen
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fun things are fun